I love story games. I love games
that let me create new kinds of stories when I play. The tragicomic betrayal of
Fiasco. The monstrous humans and human monsters of Monsterhearts.
It’s also true that I’m a big fan
of the Old School Renaissance. Dungeons, and dragons and 10-foot poles. In
fact, I’d rather play an old school game than a more modern version of D&D.
What’s the deal?
Maybe it’s the fact that I came to
it via the OSR, where the old game is explained in new words, and some people
have added their own interpretations of the original text, but my position is
that Old School D&D is a story game. Back in the late 90’s, when I first
developed my interest in gaming, it was typical to sneer at D&D as “the
game of killing monsters and taking their stuff” as we played GURPS or whatever
other system we were into at the time. But then story games came along and the
fact that a game has such a clear mission statement is considered a virtue.
But it takes more than a mission
statement to make a story game. You need mechanics that are geared towards that
mission statement. There must be some sort of carrot to lure players into
playing in certain ways. Maybe even a stick or two to cut off stories that are
not in the game’s wheelhouse. Simply put, story games deliberately create
“winning moves” within their mechanics and by leaning into those winning moves,
you’re supporting the game’s style.
In Fate Core, the winning move is
to engage with aspects and fate points. To keep the blog from getting too far
from its main topic, the winning move in Adventures in Oz: Fantasy Roleplaying
Beyond the Yellow Brick Road is to help people and make friends. Not only will
doing these things make your character more powerful and effective, they also
help create the story that those games want to tell.
Now back to the OSR. Looking for
those winning moves that offer the big rewards, what do we see? The big reward
is clearly experience points. That’s how you level up. And they also line up
neatly with that mission statement. In Old School D&D, you get XP for
killing monsters and taking their stuff. In fact, first edition D&D is
unique in that it’s the only version that offers XP for taking their stuff. And
that makes all the difference.
For example, let’s say that a party
of 4 orcs is guarding a chest with 100 gold pieces in it. In 1e, the orcs are
worth around 15 XP each if they are killed, but none if they survive. Recovering
the chest of gold is worth 100 XP. If you kill 2 orcs and the other 2 run away
(because 1e also had morale rules), you’ve still got most of the XP for the
encounter.
Old school D&D is not a game of
heroic adventure. It’s a game of treasure hunting. Realizing that, so many of
the odd relics of that edition make a degree of sense. One of the simplest
advantages is that it removes a certain sort of metagaming. Since the player at
the table and the character in the game are after the same thing, anything the
player does to get the best reward for their character is also the character working
to get the best reward for themselves.
Encumbrance rules and fiddly equipment lists are
all about planning and preparation. How much can you carry into the dungeon and
how much can you carry out? Did you remember to bring the thing you need to
deal with the challenges you expect? How many extra challenges can you cope with?
And how much treasure can you get out of the dungeon once you’ve found it?
Because coins and weapons and scrolls all have weight.
Time is another resource in the
dungeon and random encounters emphasize the ticking clock. The group could
spend several turns making sure that they’ve explored everything in a dungeon
room. Every trap disabled and every secret door uncovered. But every turn spent
is one turn closer to the dreaded random encounter check.
What’s wrong with a random encounter?
Isn’t that just a bundle of XP walking right towards you? Maybe. Remember those
orcs guarding that chest? Now imagine that you found those orcs wandering the
dungeon away from their chest. If you kill them, you get their XP. But you don’t
get XP for their chest, since that’s back in their lair. So, a fight is going
to potentially cost you spells, hit points and items without a worthwhile reward.
The funny thing is that the earliest
roleplaying emerged from trying to beat this clock. Instead of taking a turn of
game-time to check for a trap, secret door or hidden treasure, players would
listen for clues in the Dungeon Master’s description of the room. Is there a
candle sconce in the wall? Try to turn it and see if a section of wall opens. Does
the floor sound hollow when I tap it with my 10-foot pole? Probably a pit trap
there. Traps could be detected in segments instead of turns. There was less
chance of failure for this type of searching as well, since no dice were rolled
for these types of actions.
And if a random encounter did occur,
players could do things other than fight the monster. Like talk to it.
Especially if there was a large power disparity between the monster and the
party. A powerful monster might get an apology for intruding upon their domain,
while a weak monster might be intimidated into revealing where their lair and
treasure (and XP) are.
Admittedly, the treasure for XP
rule was dropped in all subsequent editions of D&D because it was not often
used. Monster XP was increased to make up the difference, but it doesn’t seem like
they thought of the results on the game’s incentive structure. While the
objective of treasure hunting led to a lot of variety and creativity, simply
rewarding monster kills encouraged players to be combat hammers banging on as
many XP nails as could be found.
Modern D&D seems pulled between
two forces. On the one hand is this reward structure that has become so ingrained
into gaming culture that it cannot be escaped. On the other hand, there is the desire
to be a generic fantasy RPG, being as big a tent as possible and encouraging
people to play it in any way they want. The downside is that it has too much
identity to be a truly generic game, but it has sold too much of its original
identity to continue the story game legacy of 1e.
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